+ own house
+ stable job
+ no SI
- still purging
- 30mg Prozac
- still hate mirrors
I broke down at work today. I was irritable and every little thing was getting on my nerves. I saw my own fake smile in the reflection of the window and I just got so, fucking sick of it
I got sick of being courteous
I got sick of being nice
Being 'a laugh'
Being whoever it is that I portray as the self that day
I left and sat in the car and just cried and cried. Boyfriend came out to look for me, kissed my tears and took me home to our gorgeous house, me crying and talking of my miserable life the whole way.
Why does he bother?
Why do I have to have the days where I feel utterly dead inside, and any feelings that surface are usually guilt, self pity or resentment. Why can't I have normal bad mood days like everyone else?
Why do I have to stick my head down the toilet after hating myself for eating only to repeat the process mere minutes later?
Why do I have to lie to get out of work cause I am in fact, fucking crazy?
I've been bulimic since 2005 when I was 14. I've hidden it well. Not so well that people haven't noticed my self harm / suicide attempt / general depression. So I got diagnosed with 'borderline personality disorder.' I've been sectioned and had several stays in hospital. I've always denied having any eating issues.
But the other day, aged 21, while my cheek was squished against my cheap green carpet before an ice cream tub full of vomit and that muscle in my chest was behaving strangely - that was when I decided to ring my mum and go "I have something to tell you"
Fast forward, fast forward, I find myself sat in front of an 'eating disorders specialist' in a city 2 hours from mine, and for the very first time in my entire life, I am honest. I am truthful. I am very articulate and confident about all my answers, except for the one to the question "What do you think of yourself?" to which I respond by bursting into tears.
SO, I tell her everything
Her response was to have me become an inpatient.
I was like "k, cool I'll stay in hospital." I've been in a mental hospital twice, for like a month, w/e, right? Agreeing to be in another is nothing... then she mentioned about my dads health insurance possibly only covering one month. (this is england, we don't typically have private healthcare but my dad has - anyway)
and how I had to be in treatment a lot longer. I was like sorry wut but - and the doctor was talking monthS to a YEAR.
Months. Year? What.
She asked if I'd like my parents to come into the room, I was like "Sure"
So they joined us, and didn't bat an eyelid at the amount of time I'd apparently be staying. Sorry what? I know they WANT me admitted, they packed an overnight bag for my appointment, but that's because they want me 'fixed' in the nicest way possible. But months!? When was this okay?!
So it's been agreed with my consent (and mild protest of wtf THREE meals AND three snacks a day with no purging wtaf) that I will be entering treatment in a city miles from home on Monday. In a way, I'm glad. Of COURSE I want my bulimia to go die in a fucking fire. But - I will be admitted to a house FULL OF ANOREXIC UNDERWEIGHT GIRLS.
I can't think about anything else other than how fat I'm going to feel - I know it's stupid but god, I cannot help it.
Oh yeah, and I'm 22 in < 3 weeks. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
I'm at my cousins house now, were the same age, like sisters and share friends. Everyone's planning my birthday and I'm going to be in hospital.
I DON'T want people knowing I'm in treatment for bulimia. I don't want ANYBODY to know.
I'm already researching Glandular Fever so I can pretend to be absent for a while.
This is my first time in treatment, it's all new and scary and I just want someone who understands and is older and wiser to hold me and tell me it's all going to be okay.
I'm really freaking out.
I'm surrounded by food; an empty packet of chocolate fingers, a half eaten muffin, an open packet of cookies, half eaten bar of chocolate, a full bar and two packets of bourbons left.
£3. I know how to binge on a budget.
And it referred to this picture of Alexa Chung that she was forced to remove due to excessive hatred about her thin frame:
So she took it down. And this article mentions it again. SHOCKING. Look how THIN she is, it's DISGUSTING, such a BAD EXAMPLE omg.
In a way, I can see their point. To be underweight IS unhealthy and bad for the body and shouldn't be promoted.
... I'd just like to flip this argument for a moment.
What if I were to comment on this photograph of how SHOCKING it is because I mean look how FAT she is it's DISGUSTING such a BAD EXAMPLE.
Being overweight is unhealthy and bad for the body and shouldn't be promoted. So why don't we attack the fatties if we're going to attack the skinnies? Why do they get away with it?
Leave EVERYONE alone and shut the fuck up about it, it's events and online bullying campaigns like the one against Alexa that makes this a fucking issue. Let's not promote or draw attention to unhealthy body types at either end of the spectrum.
Maybe I will never be all the things that I want to be,
But now is not the time to cry - now's the time to find out why.
So I just ordered a takeaway, threw it up into an ice cream tub, I really need to dispose of it.
I'm sat here listening to Oasis, feeling very contemplative. I hope my letter about being on the sick comes tomorrow so I can get my housing benefit, I don't even know how much rent I owe my landlord.
Fuck. It's tuesday I'm going to hospital and I'm still 138. I don't even know how this happened. I'm not even kidding. What am I doing to myself?
How about that, huh. I haven't binged this bad in a while. Bloody hell. I'm almost sickeningly impressed with myself.
I could still eat. How fucking ridiculous is that?! Somebody has to stop me, I'm on a rampage, I'm dangerous, I'm going to eat EVERYTHING - I dreamed I stole my friends sausages, I haven't eaten meat since 2003.
Honestly getting tired of leading a double life. I don't really NEED friends. All they do is make me drink and eat. I shouldn't do either. Drinking makes me eat. I need to stop drinking.
Going to read Marya Hornbacher's 'Sane'. Might help persuade me to stop drinking - that woman is my goddess, she's balsy, perfect and kicked bulimias ass to the kerb. Why can't I do the same? Why can't it fuck off? I could have bought flowers or something nice for me and Bailey with that £10. Instead I might as well have just flushed it down the toilet. Well - I essentially did.
Taken my prozac plus a zopiclone - hope I can sleep tonight. Hope too much of the above didn't get absorbed. I'm definitely going to have a coffee in the morning. If I wake up in the morning, shit, it's 3am.
Night night x
I have to go to the jobcentre tomorrow.
Money's starting to become a problem again - as in I have none.
Really need to sort my benefits out.
Ohh I havent had my meds in 2 days and I was drinking last night, so no wonder I feel shitty.
I wish my weight was as low as my mood.
If I'm going into treatment in 2 weeks that means I have 2 weeks to lose a stone.
I need to start working out instead of sleeping all the time.
The guy I like isn't talking to me much, I feel ignored/mixed signals I don't understand.
but I don't need anyone as long as I'm thin.
As long as my grades are high and the numbers on the scale is low.
that's all I need to focus on.
Life's about balance.
But I also lost 15lbs, so you win some, you lose some.
Ahaa what a fucked up situation. I have a new boyfriend, potentially a new job and I'm living back with my parents. I'm also 20 years old now. HEYYYY.
I ate microwaved cookies for breakfast and my parents are off out so there's a high chance there will be literally no food left today.
or I could just go apeshit on laxatives or exercise what I've eaten off. Decisions, decisions.
I'm off back in therapy where I will discuss my mental state and play dumb to any problems of my eating. My eating is not a problem, when I'm 95lbs, sure let it be a problem then. But no, not now. I'm still around 130 and I am vile and disgusting and definitely not worthy of medical attention. Actually fuck my binge, I'm feeling a bit motivated.
I keep cooking fattening foods then not eating it and the fridge is full of what I've made, now cold and congealed. Ugh.
I'm going to read.
if I can't be beautiful I want to be invisible.
Of course he doesn't want to marry me, why on earth would he? Every girl dreams of engagements and things, I never did but I still had an idea, though Love Always Has Other Plans.
Fuck this, I just couldn't hide being a lunatic forever.
Plus, what do you do when everyone you know and love tells you your dreams are wrong?
What if... I'd met you first?
No, what if I never knew you at all?
These thoughts are useless.
I'm not doing this to look good, I don't know why I do it anymore. It's all I have left that's mine, nobody really truly knows about it, it's my secret, it's my comfort blanket, it's always always fucking there, and the loss of control is quite wonderful, bollocks to these things being about control. People who say that clearly have no idea how fucking hard it can be to put milk a cup of coffee, how easy it is to just skip the milk and sugar and sip the coffee with no worries of extra calories or whatever bullshit that stresses me out in the day to day life.
It's so much easier to take a backseat and just let this part of my mind drive.
this is the first time in ever that I don't know exactly how much I weigh right now. It's an awful feeling - I mean I've always known.
I have an appointment with my councillor today, and I do not feel like going at all. at all. I think I'm gonna cancel it unless something gets done. I don't need to pay people to literally just sit and smile and nod at me, I'm paying him to fucking do something.
ugh, I'm pissed today.
"I feel fucking claustrophobic in this body. I've stopped leaving the house. I don't answer the phone anymore when old friends call. I didn't have many friends before but I used to go to the pub on a weekend and drink with people I know, I no longer do that. I've stopped calling my boyfriend which has really hurt and confused the fuck out of him. I have exams next week that determine what university I get into and I'm not even revising for them. I'm just obsessively cleaning my room, which is SO not like me, I'm the untidiest person alive. I don't even wear makeup or get dressed anymore. I've given up. I just want to go into hiding."
I wrote that exactly a year ago, and nothing has fucking changed. not one fucking thing. nothing.
I still want to go into hiding so being forced to leave the house to pay someone £20 to listen to me is fucking ridiculous.
I need to stop hating people. I really do.
But I mean the only way I can get people to leave me alone is to be a complete and utter bitch to them, and it's almost like then I can go SEE. SEE. I TOLD you nobody liked me, didn't I - I TOLD you all, I knew I was right.
Being carted in and out of hospital a ridiculous amount lately, nothing to do with eating.
Eating, or lack of, is something I understand. it makes sense to me. So I'm clinging to it like a baby.
I'm so horrifically embarrassed, everyone saw me. everyone.
I want to curl up and die a little bit, eeek.
I drank a full bottle of wine and I can't remember if alcohol makes your blood clot slower or if I should be worried.
I ate a sandwich. and I feel like I'm going to balloon. I'm sure you all understand how complex a fucking sandwich is, the weighing and the calories and the shameless way I devoured it
This wine is too expensive to throw up
I dont think I care if I die
I'll die a secret.
I have no friends, a job that I hate, I never leave the house, I spend all day arguing with my family, and I'm fairly certain I am the fattest I have ever been in my life, and this is frightening...
mainly because for some reason I am so optimistic.
9 months and about a fortnight to go...
because I'm going to university. I'm leaving the shitty job and the family and the lack of friends and the bulimia to go catch up with my peers, to be a fresher, to start university at the same time as everyone else, and do something I love, and the very thing I'm studying for now.
I held my breath as I glugged my blackcurrant juice concentrate and water mix.
the taste of the fecal impaction medicine hits straight away. it's not bad, nor is it pleasant.
I've always hated chugging drinks, preferred to sip. But I had to finish this. I took another large drink of my magic medicine again and the moment it slipped down it decided to slip straight back up again, bringing along some of the smaller contents of my stomach with it.
I had spent the previous two hours with my head in a toilet, trying to vomit, with no success. this was option two. and I was going to make it work, wether my stomach liked it or not.
I swallowed my blackcurrant juice, laxative and bile all in one delicious gulp.
2 Bounty bars
a few pringles
1 egg, scrambled.
+ Coffee, Coffee, Coffee - stay awake
Tomorrow let's see if the scale shows how exhausted I am, I wonder.